Ben Hwang nodded immediately. “Yes. The Hkh’Rkh were not good allies for the Arat Kur. We would have been a much better fit. Humanity is not as rash as the Hkh’Rkh yet is almost as militarily experienced, and we advance—in terms of exploration, settlement, technological development—much faster than either race.”
“Then what would we offer to such an alliance?” Darzhee Kut sounded more worried than shocked.
“Stability, efficiency, level-headed analysis, high rates of production,” replied Caine. “Darzhee Kut, I know it is hard to think of your dreaded destroyer race as your allies, but I suspect that this was part of what the Ktor wished to prevent. Because if our two species ever became unified against their objectives, we would have been a formidable obstacle. But the full extermination of one race by the other—or the cycle of vengeance that would be spawned by a failed attempt—would ensure that such an alliance could never be forged.”
Darzhee Kut’s claws made a surprised castanet sound. “You said this was only part of what the Ktor wished to prevent by prompting you to destroy my race. What is the other part?”
Caine looked at Apt-Counsel’s silent environmental tank, then at Alnduul. “They wanted to ensure our estrangement from the Dornaani.” He saw Alnduul’s mouth coil about its own center. He’s smiling? Of course. He knew all along.
Sukhinin leaned his rather furry fists forward to meet their shadowmates on the reflective table-top. “Caine, explain how this could happen. It was the Dornaani who made it possible for us to be here above the Arat Kur homeworld. And did so their own free will.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean they have sanctioned genocide.”
Visser looked—somewhat anxiously—at Alnduul. “Perhaps not, but we have not concealed our plans and contingencies from the Custodians. They have known from the start what we were prepared to do.”
“Yes,” agreed Caine, “but if they had intervened, then would they learn as much about us, get as accurate a measure of who we humans are, right now? Our actions—our independent actions—are what define us. So, if we decide, on the advice of the Ktor, to initiate genocide, what will the Dornaani have learned?”
Darzhee Kut’s translated voice was a murmur. “That you are indeed the great destroyers we feared.”
“Precisely. And that is exactly what the Ktor want, because if they can’t eliminate us, then they want to ensure that the Dornaani will decide that we cannot be trusted.”
“And what would that achieve?”
“We would become pariahs, Vassily, like the Ktor. And so, to whom else would we be able to turn?”
“You mean—as allies?”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Ms. Visser. Think it through. We exterminate the Arat Kur. We become the great savages of this region of space. Our bid for Accord membership is rejected. The Ktor sympathize, probably extending similar condolences to the Hkh’Rkh, who violated the Twenty-first accord by violating a homeworld—”
“And so they build an alliance of outcasts which can undo the Accord.” Vassily was nodding, looking at the Ktor’s tank as if it held a mixture of piranha and sewage.
Visser’s nostrils had flared and stayed that way. “In that scenario, it would not even require warfare to undo the Accord. With only the Slaasriithi remaining as members, the Accord would become a travesty. It would lack both material power and political legitimacy.” She turned to Apt-Counsel. “Ambassador, were these your plans?”
“Consul Visser, surely you cannot expect me to either confirm or deny. Either response would provide you with information, whether negative or positive, about my race’s long-term diplomatic strategies.”
Visser looked as if she were about to spit at the misting tank. “I will take that to be an affirmative, Ambassador—despite your evasive sophistries. It will be made widely known among our highest command staff that all your counsel is to be reevaluated, in light of your apparent duplicity and hostility—which compassed even the possible extermination of the human race.”
Apt-Counsel’s voice sounded thoroughly unruffled. “You must do as you see fit, Consul Visser. But I assure you of this. Had there been any risk of genocide against your planet, Ktor would have interceded. Aggressively. We would have considered an act of genocide against you to be tantamount to an act of genocide against us.”
Sukhinin looked as though he was struggling with a sudden up-rush of bile. “With all due respect, Ambassador Apt-Counsel, you cannot expect us to believe you are so charitably concerned with the survival of our species when you also tried to destroy it with a space rock.”
Caine nodded slowly. “Yes, Vassily. Actually, we can believe him on this one point—although charity would have nothing to do with his desire for our survival. If the Arat Kur, or anyone else, had brought a true campaign of genocide to our homeworld, it would be the equivalent of bringing that invasion to the Ktor homeworld.” Caine smiled, kept a wary eye on Apt-Counsel. “In fact, it wouldn’t have merely been the equivalent of depopulating the Ktor homeworld. It would have been exactly that. Because to depopulate Earth is to depopulate the Ktor homeworld.”
Sukhinin frowned. “I do not understand.”
The Ktor almost sounded amused. “When did you know?”
“I was pretty sure when I came back from talking to Dr. Hwang.”
Visser’s voice was sharp. “Gentlemen. What are you talking about?”
“I’ll show you,” said Caine. “Crack open his environment tank.”
“What?!”
Caine turned to the American Marine. “Corporal, I carry the rank of Commander, am declaring this a combat situation, and am issuing you a direct order. Crack open the Ktor’s environment tank.”
Apt-Counsel’s tone was languid. “There is no need for violence. I will happily comply.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Far Orbit, Sigma Draconis Two
The tank came apart so easily, it was difficult to believe it had ever been an apparently seamless container. After a brief burst of air escaping, Apt-Counsel emerged like a decathlete on the half-shell, stepping free of a sensor-laden body suit, a face piece that might have been a sophisticated VR vision unit falling aside as he did so. Naked, tall, trim, almost perversely well-defined, he stood at their center, evidently unperturbed by having both his human body and identity so completely exposed. His voice reinforced the impression. “It is so constraining in there, particularly these last few months. Presuming I was under constant observation, I was not able to leave the tank. Although this is an unfortunate turn of events, it is pleasing to be done with this charade and to anticipate the prospect of real food. I wonder—do you have olives?”
Visser and Sukhinin seemed unable to speak; the Marines had their hands on their weapons; Darzhee Kut had backed up until the rear of his shell rested lightly against Alnduul’s legs. Caine did not take his eyes off the Ktor but smoothly unholstered his weapon, snapped the safety off, and centered the red dot of the aimpoint laser two centimeters above the navel. “Dr. Hwang.”
“Yes?”
“Please go at once to the CIC. Inform Admiral Silverstein that we have a situation in the conference suite requiring the utmost discretion and the immediate presence of armed personnel with the highest levels of clearance. Also tell him that it is our collective opinion that under no circumstances whatsoever are any biological weapons to be launched at the Arat Kur Homenest, at least not until all the parties here present have been fully and satisfactorily debriefed. Please also convey a description of the Ktoran ambassador’s true form and that it is the shared opinion of the persons in this room that he is not to be trusted in any matter, to any degree. And lastly, if any firearms are discharged in this room, it is to be sealed and flooded with suppressive gas. Does anyone wish to amend or alter my message?”
Silence, then Hwang said, “Caine, in the time it takes for me to run to the CIC—”
“Ben, I think it best that we don’t put that kind of message on the intercom. We want to keep this as
low profile as possible. All the way under the scuttlebutt radar, if we can. Please go with all speed.”
Caine steadied the gun with his left hand as the door opened and closed.
The Ktor smiled. “You didn’t request olives.”
“All in good time, Ambassador Apt-Counsel.”
“Let us dispense with assumed names as well as appearances. I am Tlerek Sirn of the House Shethkador.”
“I can’t say that I’m pleased to meet you. However, this makes it pretty clear how you were able to influence events on Earth long before the war, before Convocation, even before Parthenon. And not only can you walk among us, you had access to Earth as well, legitimated by the Accord.”
Sukhinin looked at Caine with wide eyes. “Shto?”
“Read the fine print of the delegation’s report, Vassily, and look at the text of the Eighteenth Accord. The current Custodians, the Dornaani, were unable to cover all their duties alone, so they were allowed to tap one additional race for assistance in monitoring and policing new and uncontacted races. That was the perfect cover for their Ktor ‘helpers’ to put ships in our system, to infiltrate agents, to start the doomsday rock in our direction—all with complete plausible deniability.”
“Do you still deny this?” Visser asked the Ktor, her voice tightly controlled.
Shethkador raised his right hand in the classic palm’s up sign of uncertainty, his middle finger’s oddly long, tapering fingernail raised like a dagger toward the ceiling. “Did I ever deny it? I seem to recall indicating that I was not disposed to discuss it.”
Caine nodded. “Very well, Ambassador Shethkador, we’ll leave that discussion for another time. But unless you want us to discuss your speciate origins openly with the entirety of the Arat Kur—or perhaps, the whole Accord—you will now send your genuine identity codes to the Homenest leadership.”
Sukhinin started, then nodded. “Of course. This zjulik gave them a false confirmation code when he ‘attempted to contact’ them.”
Shethkador stared out at the stars, at Homenest. “I suppose there is little reason to refuse you this accommodation.”
Caine smiled. “And every reason to comply, if you want us to keep your speciate identity a secret.”
Shethkador looked away. “Keeping our identity is of no consequence to us.”
“Lie. If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t cooperate in any way.”
“You are quite wrong. We stand to lose nothing by having others know our identity.”
“Nice bluff—but I was born on the planet that invented poker. You want that secret kept because what the Arat Kur claim is true: humans are the killer species they fear, the ones in their legends. But it was you—the Ktor—who were still traveling between the stars, who were slaughtering other races before we were even wondering about how to build pyramids. And if the Arat Kur were to learn that, I wonder how they might start rethinking their positive opinion of you, and their negative opinion of us.”
Shethkador turned and smiled—and Caine noticed that there were flecks of blood or red mixed into his eyes’ light amber irises. “You have admirable skills, Mr. Riordan, but remember to be measured in your requests. It is useful, but not essential, that our speciate identity remains undisclosed. If you make the price of your silence too high, you will receive no concessions at all.”
Caine smiled back, wanting to squeeze the trigger. “So it was you—the Ktor—who almost obliterated Homenest.”
“It would seem that way.”
“And the locals on DeePeeThree? Them too?”
Shethkador’s smile broadened. He shrugged. “Who can say?”
Caine pursued. “Don’t be coy. There are no other alternatives.”
“No? There’s always the possibility of yet another group of humans. If two, why not three? Or five?”
Caine shook his head. “Because if you believed that, you wouldn’t suggest it. You give away no useful information. You’d only bring up the possibility of other human enclaves if you thought it would sow uncertainty and confusion into our planning.”
Shethkador smiled back. “Impressive. One point for you.”
“More than one.”
Shethkador’s eyebrows elevated slightly. “Oh? How so?”
“By just now admitting that there are only two groups of humanity, you’ve told me something else. That you have fairly intact records of the actual history of our species, of how it was that we were in the stars twenty millennia ago, who brought us there, and what we were doing, and why. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so sure that there weren’t other groups.”
Shethkador’s eyebrows lowered. “And therefore, you have deduced a third and final piece of information.”
Caine studied Shethkador’s utterly expressionless features and then nodded. “That you’re not going to share the smallest bit of that history with us.”
Shethkador smiled again. “Such a clever low-breed. It would be interesting to examine your DNA.”
Caine tried to suppress—but couldn’t—the shudder that rippled from the center of his spine out in all directions.
Visser had stepped forward and aggressively planted herself in front of Shethkador. “You will do more than contact the Arat Kur homeworld; you will agree to cease and desist from any interference in our affairs. Which is to say, you will now observe the Accords to which you have pledged yourself.”
Shethkador looked down at her; his smile became a mirthless laugh. “As if any of the races do observe the Accords—with the possible exception of the rather inane Slaasriithi. Although I suspect that even they may bend the rules from time to time. Perhaps by providing a few key pieces of data on other races?” His smile broadened; his eyes narrowed into hers.
Christ. He knows that the Slaasriithi passed us intelligence on the location of the Arat Kur homeworld.
Visser blinked. “I would not know anything about that.”
“Of course not.” He nodded, smiled wider still, looked away. “At any rate, I will make no agreement which limits Ktoran freedom of action. And I think you must ask yourself if exposing our identity is truly in your best interests. Have you considered the cost to yourselves? You may see yourselves as different from us, but your history—your very recent history—argues differently.” Seeing Visser’s lowering brow, he shrugged and provided examples. “The active and then passive extermination of the indigenous peoples of three continents; your biosphere held hostage to absolute thermonuclear destruction as a pawn in the game of empires; the death camps of countless regimes while you were in the first flower of your glorious atomic and information ages; and, less than a century ago, your benign toleration of what you called the ‘megadeath.’ What horror have you not perpetrated against yourselves in the recent past? By extension, what horror will you not perpetrate against others, particularly other species whose ways, appearances, biologies are so different and daunting to such rude minds and sensibilities as yours? Will revealing our speciate identity make heroes of you, or to borrow your metaphor, will revealing us tar you with the same brush?”
Shethkador seemed ready to yawn, but continued. “Besides, if you elect to tell other races that we are, in fact, human, we will deny it. And unless you make me a testamentary zoo-specimen—which would bring about a war you could not win—you will have no evidence to support your claim.
“But this is all moot. Your genes are ours, and so are your deeds. You cling to the differences in our behaviors. But other species will not note these distinctions. They will be subtleties that your exosapient allies will silently brush aside in view of the greater truth. That the most bloody deeds of your recent past resonate with our own. In short, they will see that—first, last, and foremost—you are us.”
Caine shook his head. “They will also see that the Dornaani allowed events to unfold this way so that we would be the ones to spare, even save, another race—and so redeem ourselves. And eventually, when the inevitable day of revelation comes—when all masks are dropped or stripped away—
we humans of Earth will be remembered and seen for what we can be at our best, not at our worst.”
Shethkador waved a hand at Caine’s retort. “Oh, that may occur too, I imagine. But do not forget that the Dornaani also used you in the prosecution of this war because they understand us as a species. Human social evolution is unique in that our race has achieved the maximum, even optimum, balance of violent aggression and social cohesion. Again, consider your recent past. What other race could teeter so long, and yet not topple over, the brink of nuclear self-extermination? And all in the name of ideals, which were simply the facades behind which you hid your national prejudices, racial fears, and innate savagery. They are the blinds behind which you hid your appetite for the horrors you had made and amidst which you lived. Who else could have been shrewd enough, versatile enough, resilient enough—and brutal enough—to stalemate us in this war? It is not chance that you were the ones to foil our plans. You have a saying that eludes me now, about how you extinguish wild-fires, that you…er—”
“Fight fire with fire.” Caine finished for him, his stomach growing smaller, harder.
“Just so. You were the Dornaani application of that principle: using humans to fight humans.”
It could not be mere chance that Alnduul had invoked this same axiom—that of fighting fire with fire—back at Convocation and again less than half an hour ago. He had foreseen this coming from Shethkador, had subtly primed Caine for the revelations of this moment. Suggesting that full control, and full understanding, of this war and our place within it has never been wholly ours, not even when we thought we were taking the initiative.
Perhaps Shethkador had seen some trace of surprise or discomfiture in Caine’s face: his voice was suddenly less histrionically jocular and detached, almost became earnest. “Accept what the Dornaani have accepted about us. We, as a species, are not instruments of enduring peace. We are engines of perpetual war. And together, we would be unstoppable.”
“And apart?”
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